


The Case of the Sixth Candle

by WhatLocked



Series: The William Watson Case Files [11]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Birthday Celebrations, Fairy Bread, M/M, Overly excited children., Presents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 09:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: It's Williams 5th Birthday.  There are gifts, a special guest, cake, one too many candles and surprise present.





	The Case of the Sixth Candle

~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock watched as William happily hummed and buzzed around the flat, getting ready for bed.  He had never, as far as Sherlock’s knowledge went, been so happy about going to bed.

He came out of the bathroom, after brushing his teeth, and stood in the living room, excitement over something, practically radiating off of him.

“It’th my birthday tomorrow,” he said, grinning at Sherlock, his hands clenching and opening as if trying to expel all that pent-up energy he seemed to be hoarding tonight.  Well, at least now Sherlock knew the reason he was so happy. 

Of course, he had known that tomorrow was Williams birthday.  William had been counting down for over a week now.  That and John had desperately, since the hidden puppy incident, been desperately trying to figure out what he could get William that would make him happy.  What Sherlock couldn’t understand was why he was brimming with excitement tonight.  There was still five and a quarter hours until it was officially his birthday.

“I know” Sherlock responded, at a loss of how else to react.  

“I’m going to be five” William stated, holding up the five fingers of his left hand.  Sherlock knew this fact as well, obviously.  “And Bill is coming to have dinner at our houth.” Sherlock nodded, also knowing that Bill Murray, one of John’s army mates, was joining in with the celebrations.  Apparently, it was some sort of tradition.

“Do you think I might get a puppy?” William asked, the hope in his voice coming up equal with the excitement.

Sherlock felt himself pale.  What could he say?  He didn’t want to lie to the boy, yet it also wasn’t his job to be the bearer of this particular piece of news.

“I guess you will find out tomorrow” Sherlock replied, feeling this was the safest route to go.  Unfortunately, the forced smile on his face didn’t do well for the boy’s anxiety levels as his look of hope turned into one of nervousness.  

Thankfully, at that particular moment, John came in, saving Sherlock from any more uncomfortable talks about presents.

“Alright, you,” he said steering William by the shoulders and herding him towards the stairs.  “Say goodnight to Sherlock, it’s time for bed.  You have a birthday to rest-up for.”

“Good night, Therlock” William called, his worry turning back into pure excitement at the mention of his upcoming birthday, and he hurried up the stairs, almost tripping halfway up, John following at a more sedate pace, behind him.

Sherlock didn’t have any hopes of seeing John for a while.  There was no way that William was going to go to sleep anytime soon.  Sherlock anticipated more than six books to get the boy to sleep tonight.

~o~

“Would you believe it was only five books tonight?” John said as he walked back into the living room, some seventy-five minutes later.  

The look that Sherlock shot John stated very clearly, that, no, he did not believe it.

“One of them was _The Sign of the Seahorse,_ though, so there is like, three books worth of reading, right there.  He wants a seahorse now, so you can talk to your brother about that.  He got him the bloody book.”

“The average picture book doesn’t go over a word count of 1000 words.  That particular piece of literature has nearly 5000, so it was more like reading five books, and I think a seahorse is a wonderful idea.”

The look that John shot Sherlock stated very clearly that, no, they were not getting a seahorse.

“God, I'm tired,” John said as he flopped onto the couch and ran his hands over his face and through his hair.  “And he is going to be up before the crack of dawn.”

“I don’t understand” Sherlock stated.  John lifted his head from the back of the couch and looked at Sherlock.  It wasn’t a look of shock, that Sherlock didn’t understand what was possibly normal childish behaviour, or one of pity because he knew why Sherlock didn’t understand.  It was the look that John got when he was reminded that Sherlock’s childhood wasn’t typical.  It was almost curiosity mixed with incredulity and sometimes, Sherlock thought, the tiniest hint of anger.

“He is just excited that his birthday is tomorrow. Most kids get like this before birthdays, Christmas, Easter, that sort of thing.  He knows something amazing is going to happen and he wants it to get here sooner.”

Sherlock still didn’t understand. He had seen small bits of this before Christmas, last year, but John and William had been away Christmas eve so he hadn’t witnessed the whole thing.

John inhaled and tried to explain it in a way Sherlock would understand.

“Right, so imagine that you knew tomorrow there would be a locked room, triple murder to solve.”

Sherlock thought, very briefly.  “Then I would probably inform the police about it, John” he responded.  “Despite loving solving mysteries, I would prevent a crime from happening if I could.”  Surely John didn’t think him so callous.

John let out a sigh.  “Of course, I know.  Bad example.  Right.  Try this one.  Imagine, Molly told you that tomorrow, you could have complete, uninhibited access to the morgue and every cadaver in it, but only for tomorrow.  How would you be feeling, right now?” 

Sherlock had to confess, he did quite like the idea of that and it must have shown on his face.

“Right,” John said, a small smile on his lips.  “Now, pretend you are four years old and haven’t yet learnt how to contain all that excitement.”

Sherlock still didn’t fully understand, but he had a better inkling.  

“Is everything ready for tomorrow?” Sherlock asked, deciding to move away from the topic of premature excitement.  John answered with a tired, but affirmative hum.

“And his present?” Sherlock asked.  This was a touchy subject.  

“Can’t be delivered until tomorrow evening.  I tried getting it earlier, but the supplier isn’t available until then.”

Sherlock nodded, even though John couldn’t see as he had closed his eyes again.

John had been up since five o’clock that morning, after only getting a few hours of sleep.  He had then had to pull a double shift at the clinic while still tying up the loose ends of Williams birthday planning.  Sherlock had helped where he could, but this sort of thing really was out of his depth.  

“Go have a shower, then go to bed” Sherlock offered.  

John didn’t move, except to say, “Will you join me?”

“John, you can hardly hold yourself up in a sitting position.  As much as I usually admire your stamina, I don’t think you are up for much tonight.”

A half, barely there chuckle left John’s mouth.  “I meant for sleeping.”

Sherlock was going to say no, he had notes to write up on his blog about the decomposition rate of skin cells, but the thought of curling up into bed with John suddenly seemed more appealing.  

He answered by standing up and pulling John to his feet.  “Sleeping sounds like a grand idea,” he said and led the way to the bathroom.

~o~

John was right.  There wasn’t even a hint of sunlight in the sky when William came bounding into their room, bouncing on the bed and singing  _ Happy Birthday _ to himself.  Loudly.

Sherlock groaned when he saw the clock read 4:37 and rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head.  It did nothing to stop Williams enthusiasm.

He was vaguely aware of John asking William to keep the noise down, at least until the sun was in the sky, and then the movement of the mattress told him that John was getting up, out of bed.  

This was confirmed by the sound of both of them leaving the room, closing the door quietly so Sherlock could sleep.

But Sherlock couldn’t sleep.  There was this gnawing feeling in his stomach and an annoying voice that was telling him that he should be up and sharing in this exciting moment with his family.

After several minutes of trying to ignore that feeling and voice, Sherlock gave up sleep as something that was going to happen to him that morning and got out of bed to join John and William in the birthday celebrations.

By the time he made it out to the living room, William was opening presents and John was whipping up a batch of pancakes.  It seemed to be his go-to birthday breakfast, but that was fine with Sherlock because John’s pancakes were the best pancakes.  

Maybe not staying in bed wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

“ _ Oh my god _ ” William exclaimed, rather loudly, brandishing something the size of a shoe box.  “I have wanted one of these  _ forever _ !”

As Sherlock got closer, he could see that it was a remote-controlled car.

“Three months” John whispered, coming up behind Sherlock, mixing bowl in hand.

“Huh?” 

“That’s how long he has wanted one.  Since Brian’s birthday, which was three months ago.”

Now that was something Sherlock could understand.  The slow passing of time whilst waiting for something.  

“Can I open thith one now, becauthe Therlock ith awake now?” William called, holding up a familiar looking present.

“It’s up to Sherlock, buddy.  It is from him, after all.”

William looked expectantly at Sherlock, eyes wide, bottom lip pouting, the present clutched to his small body.  Even if Sherlock had wanted to say no, there was no way he could have.  Not after that display.

“It’s all yours,” he said and smiled back at William when William's face broke out into a huge grin.  Quickly he tore into the paper, not caring where the scraps got thrown.  

Sherlock was only glad the fireplace wasn’t going as a large chunk of it half landed in the grate.

His attention was drawn away from the fireplace by a high pitched squeal, coming from William.  

Sherlock thought the boy was going to pass out as he looked down at the small microscope in his hands.

He looked up at Sherlock.  “It’th jutht like yourth” he said, barely above a whisper.  

Sherlock was about to rectify his assumption and tell him that it was nothing like his, as his was several thousand pounds worth of equipment, while Williams cost 80 quid from the national geographic store, but John stepped in.

“It most certainly is, buddy, so make sure you take super good care of it, okay.”  William nodded emphatically. “I promithe” he swore and then proceeded to carefully place the box on the coffee table and come over to hug Sherlock around the thighs.  

“Thank you therlock.”

Sherlock placed his hand, gently on William’s head.  “You’re welcome,” he said, glad that William liked the gift.  

The morning continued on quite peacefully.  When all of Williams presents were opened and pancakes were consumed, William looked towards his father with a hopeful expression, but John either didn’t notice or somehow managed to ignore it and proceeded to ask William how he would like to spend his day.

After visiting Mrs Hudson and having a second breakfast, a large bulk of the day was spent looking at the dinosaur display at the museum.  Again.  This was followed by a trip to the Aquarium and lunch at children’s cafe’ that had opened up not too far away. When they got home William was bathed and dressed in his ‘ _ nice _ ’ clothes and he spent the rest of the afternoon racing his new car around the flat, reading his new books and looking at onion skin under his new microscope.  

Sherlock was just about to show him how to gather cells from the inside of his cheek when they received a visitor.

“Afternoon boys” Lestrade greeted as he entered the flat to find all three of them sitting around the kitchen table.  

“Afternoon Greg, John said cheerfully, but Sherlock heard the tint of weariness behind it.  He was worried Lestrade was here with a case.  Sherlock sighed internally.  Clearly, he was not observing.

“Not a case” Sherlock stated, pulling out a new slide to get William to prepare.  “You came up the stairs to casually.  Whenever you  _ need _ us, you do this little jog thing, which is getting easier, since it has now been, what, six months without a cigarette?”

“Seven” Lestrade corrected.  “And no, no case.  This is purely a social visit because I have been reliably informed that it is someone’s birthday today.”

“That’th me” William called, shooting up, so he was standing on the kitchen chair, waving his hand as if he was hard to notice in the small room of only four people. “Do you have a prethent for me?”

“William” John admonished at the same time that Sherlock said “Yes.”

Lestrade chuckled.  “I most certainly do” he confirmed, holding up the two gift bags he had concealed behind his back. Poorly, if you had asked Sherlock, but no one did.

“This is a little something from Mycroft and me,” he said placing the blue bag on the table in front of William.  Sherlock's top lip twitched in a quasi-sneer at the sound of his brother.  John kicked him under the table.  “And this one” Lestrade continued, placing an orange and blue polka dotted bag on the table, is from Phillip. He asked if I would deliver it.”

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open in shocked horror, at the thought of Anderson sending anything to William.  He had thought, after that one episode down at the yard, that there would be nothing more between William and Anderson.  Clearly, he had been wrong.  At least John didn’t kick him again though.  He was too busy laughing at Sherlock.

“Thank you, Gavin” William sang and, over John’s giggles, Sherlock heard Lestrade sigh.

“It’s Greg” John laughed, a chuckle still escaping.

“Thank you, Greg” William corrected and gently pushed his microscope to the side to pull the newest gifts closer.

He grabbed Anderson’s first and reached into the bag only to pull out what Sherlock was certain, was a plastic and silicon T-Rex.  (Since William had moved in, Sherlock had had no choice but to learn about dinosaurs).  

William gave an excited little giggle and continued to explore the dinosaur. He gasped in joy as it roared when he pulled down the arm of the toy, and then continued to do so four more times before John stopped him by suggesting that he see what Greg and Mycroft had got him.

Sherlock couldn’t have been more thankful.

“Tell Anderson we said thanks.  He didn’t really have to get him anything, but it was nice of him.  And he loves it” John said, head nodding towards William who was now reaching into the blue paper bag.

“What are thethe?” William asked curiously, looking at the box in his hand.  

“Walkie-talkies,” Greg said. 

“Government issued, walkie-talkies” Sherlock rectified as he read the brand on the box.

“ Submersible to 3 Feet for 30 Minutes, up to 50-Mile Range, 22 Channels, Includes 2 Headsets” John read off the box then looked to Lestrade, an amused expression on his face.

“I know,” Lestrade said, holding his hands up in surrender.  “I tried telling him to get the latest PlayStation game or some lego or something, but he was adamant that all children, as active as William and Brian, have walkie-talkies.  I would have been happy to go to the local toy store, but Mycroft  _ insisted _ .”

I the meantime, William had pulled open the box and tipped the contents onto the tabletop and had distracted Sherlock from commenting about his brother and his  _ insistences _ by asking “How do they work?”

The next hour was spent testing the limits of the walkie-talkies around the flat and Sherlock had a sneaking suspicion that John and Lestrade were enjoying it more than William.

Unfortunately, the dinosaur also was tested to its limits.

“No, you can’t take the batteries out”  John informed him, once Lestrade had left.  “At least, not until next week.”  Sherlock could abide by that, after all, next week was only two days away.

~o~

The walkie-talkie, sitting on the kitchen bench gave off a small, barely there hum before Williams voice could be heard, yelling, “Bill ith here.”  The announcement was completely unnecessary, as the doorbell had rung not even two seconds ago and they were not expecting anyone else, but William had insisted that he be allowed to wait downstairs and wait for Bill so he could use his new gift to let John know that their guest had arrived.

Sherlock saw John wince as the boy's voice blared through the speaker, amplified as the volume had been turned up, and he put down the tub of sprinkles he had been using to make fairy bread.  Apparently, it wasn’t a birthday party without fairy bread.

Sherlock watched John walk out the flat and then got up to follow him.  He had already been advised that his helping hands would be needed.

When he got downstairs, he saw why.  John and William (walkie-talkie clipped to the waistband of his trousers, headset still in place) was standing on the front porch talking to a man, presumably the fabled Bill Murray, who was in a wheelchair.  

“How do you want to do this Murray?” Sherlock heard as he stepped off the last stair.  “Bridal or fireman?”  Going by the sound of John’s voice and the look on Bill’s face, this was an ongoing joke.

Bill was about to answer when his eyes moved up and locked on Sherlock.  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather him,” Bill said to John, head nodding towards Sherlock.  “He’s much prettier than you.”

Sherlock silently baulked at being called pretty, William laughed and John replied with “Sherlock, this is Bill, Bill, this is Sherlock” and then, looking back down at Bill, he continued with “And not a hope in hell am I letting him carry you.  I know you.  You’ll try and cop a feel.”

Bill just replied with a chuckle and William asked Sherlock “What’th cop a feel?”

“Army talk” Sherlock answered quickly, not prepared to explain the actual meaning.

“Since I don’t trust you to not smack my head on the bannisters, again…” Bill started, quickly getting cut off by John.

“...that was one time!”

“...I’ll opt for fireman if you don’t mind.”

“Well, come on then, here, William,” John said, taking a bag off of Bill’s lap and handing it to William. “Sherlock, if you could grab the chair once I get him up.  He’ll need it upstairs.”

“If this would be easier, I am sure Mrs Hudson won’t mind us using her kitchen” Sherlock suggested as he watched John step towards his friend.  It wasn’t that he didn’t think John wasn't strong enough, but Bill was a rather tall man and John was, well, short.  

“Trust us, Sherlock” John reassured.  “We have done this a hundred times.  It’s not an issue, and if it was, I’d make him haul his own arse up on his hands.  He’s actually quite capable, he just whinges a lot afterwards.”

“I do not  _whinge_.” The last word came out as a sort of a yelp as John, without warning, lent over Bill and quickly hauled him out of his chair and over his shoulder.

“Yeah, you do.  And quite loudly.”

Before Murray could reply, William asked “Ith my cake in here?”  

Sherlock looked to the birthday boy to see him peeking inside the bag.

“Is there a garden gnome and a pair of ladies shoes in the bag?” Murray asked.

“I don’t even want to know…” John muttered as he turned and entered the building.  

“No” William answered.

“Then, yes.  I grabbed the right bag and your cake is most definitely in there.”

John started up the stairs muttering about overgrown children and pains in the arse and Sherlock had a sneaking suspicion that he may have been comparing Sherlock and Bill.

“Come along, Mr Holmes” Bill called out in a poor imitation of a posh accent and sent a wink Sherlock’s way as John carried him up to their flat, with more ease than Sherlock would have thought.  Quickly, he folded the wheelchair and followed the other three upstairs.

“I thought you said your friend was going to be here?” Bill asked William as John reached the first landing.

Sherlock couldn’t see William, but he could practically hear the slump of the shoulders. “He hath the chicken pocth” he replied dejectedly.  “He got them off of Luthy who got them from Michael who thaid he got them from the witch who liveth in hith garage.”

“Is this the Michael who hit you with an Iron Man?” Bill asked, a clear dislike for the boy in his voice.  Clearly, he and Sherlock had something in common.

“Yup.”

“Well, I think Michael is full of shit.”

“Oi” John snapped, as William giggled.  Sherlock just smirked.  John used that word, plus many others, frequently, in front of William.

“What?” Bill asked, all innocent like. 

“I will dump you on the floor” John threatened, as they entered the living room.  Sherlock reset the chair up, and John lowered him into it.

“It’s not like he hasn’t heard it all before,” Bill said.

“Yeah, but I don’t need him going to Kindy and telling Michael that his dad’s friend said that he was full of shit.  I get phone calls when that happens.”  This was said with a stern look towards Sherlock.

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have told William that Michael was more than likely going to grow up to be a petty, unoriginal thief who would have several stays in jail throughout his life.

John took the bag from William, but not before Bill pulled an awkwardly wrapped parcel out of it, and disappeared into the kitchen.  

“Here you go,” Bill said, handing the parcel to William, who, with a rushed thanks, ripped into the parcel.

As he had with practically every single present that day, William held the new item up, this one a Ninja Turtle costume, and looked at it with awe.  “Can I wear it now?” he pleaded to Bill, who just grinned at him and proceeded to help him pull it out of his packaging.  

Sherlock felt that he was of no use there, so went to see if John needed help in the kitchen. 

“What happened to him?” Sherlock asked as he watched John place candles on top of the cake, keeping his voice low.  

John knew what he was talking about.  “Caught a bullet to the base of the spine,” John replied.  There was a hint of remorse in his voice.  He didn’t need to elaborate.  John had been first on the scene.  He had saved Bills life, but he hadn’t been able to undo the damage that the bullet had already done.  Bill was a paraplegic before he had dropped to the ground, but John, being the man that he was, still thought there should have been more that he could have done.

“William seems well taken with him.  You have put six candles on the cake” Sherlock’s attention going from one topic to the other as he realised John had placed two neat rows of three candles on top of the cake.

“Great deduction, there” John grinned, as he then carried the cake to the fridge and placed it inside. 

“But William is only five.  If I hadn’t known before today, I most certainly would have been made aware of it since, considering he has told _everyone_ he has come into contact with.”

John gave a chuckle.  “Five’s a big deal,” he said.

Sherlock decided to leave, knowing it would be something else he didn’t understand and went back to the original topic.  “Yes, but why are there six candles?”

“Because,“ John said, turning and leaning against the counter.  “The night William was born, Mary had called me up to the hospital.  She wasn’t keeping him, he was healthy, so there was no reason for him to stay in the hospital. I could take him home. That also meant that I couldn’t go out and wet the baby’s head, so to speak.  Bill did it for me and then rocked up to my apartment, later that night, half-inebriated, with a cake, which had one candle on it.  The following year, on William’s first birthday, he showed up at my place, sober this time, with a cake with two candles on it.  I think you can work out the pattern.” Sherlock nodded.  

“He hasn’t missed a birthday since.  Every year, he comes down to London and celebrates Williams birthday with cake and one too many candles.  It’s tradition.”

Sherlock let the extra candle go.  As far as traditions went, it was a fairly good one. 

“ _ Hey-yah _ !” came an unexpected cry from William as he jumped into the kitchen and karate chopped Sherlock’s leg.  Sherlock winced, as it had actually been quite hard.  “Aren’t ninjas supposed to be silent?” he asked, rubbing his leg and turning to look at his assailant. 

William was dressed in a hard plastic shell strapped to his back and a green mask with an orange eye band on his face.  

“Please say there are no nun-chucks to go with that costume?” John groaned.

“Bill can’t get them out of the packet and he ith uthing lotth of bad wordth.  He want’th thome thithors pleathe.”

With a resigned sigh, John retrieved the scissors from the drawer and took them into Bill.  

The next forty-five minutes, while they decided on what to order for dinner, was spent watching William repeatedly smack himself in the face with the plastic nun-chucks while he tried to master the art of using the weapon.  The only reason John hadn’t stopped him was because the turtle mask was stopping any damage from occurring.

John swore, repeatedly, at Bill, for getting William nun-chucks.

Both Bill and Sherlock found some sadistic pleasure in John’s distress.

~o~

Dinner, which to Sherlock’s distress was pizza (because that is what Ninja Turtles eat) was had, the cake was eaten after six candles were blown out and fairy bread, which Sherlock decided had made it to his list of favourite foods, was currently being consumed.  Mainly by William and Sherlock.

The evening had been pleasant.  Despite Bills brash nature and crude sense of humour, Sherlock actually found himself getting along with the man, especially when he had secret troves of information he would pass on to Sherlock, about John, whenever John was out of the room.

It was as William was eating his sixth piece of fairy bread (there was no way he was sleeping anytime soon) when the doorbell rang once more that day.  

“I’ll get that,” John said, quickly standing up and Sherlock realised that despite a number of presents William had already got, one more had just arrived.  

“Anyway, picking up from where we left off,” Bill said in a voice that wouldn’t carry downstairs, and Sherlock leaned closer so he wouldn’t miss a thing.  “Watson pulls back his blanket and there, in the middle of his bed, is a great big camel spider.  I have never heard a man scream so high.  I honestly didn’t think he had it in him” Bill laughed, and Sherlock made a mental note to find a supplier of said arachnid, just to witness it for himself.  

“He didn’t talk to me for an entire day, after that.”

Sherlock joined in with Bills chuckles, but both men stopped as soon as John appeared in the doorway, a rather large box in his hands. 

“Yeah, like that was suss at all,” he said looking at both Bill and Sherlock, who both put on their most innocent of faces.  “I knew it would be a bad idea introducing you two.”  But John didn’t sound mad.  Just resigned and maybe a bit amused.

He didn’t get to feel that way for long as suddenly William called out, very excited, “Ith that for me?”

A suspicious rustling came from inside the box and John gently placed it on the floor.  “Happy Birthday buddy,” John said, and William got up, from where he had been sitting on the floor, colouring in, and ran to the box which rustled again and made a small ‘ _ yip _ ’ sound.

Without any hesitation, he ripped the bow off the top and unfolded the top flaps and stood, staring down into the box.  

Sherlock watched as Williams bottom lip trembled, his small hands clenched at his side as he just stood and stared into the box. 

More rustling and a low attempt at a growl sounded, followed by another ‘ _ yip _ .’

William looked up from the puppy in the box, to his father.  “Ith it really for me?” he asked quietly, unsure as if this was a trick or something and Sherlock saw the exact moment that John realised he had made the right choice.

“He is all yours” John replied and William launched himself at John, giving him a brief squeeze around the legs, before dropping to his knees and pulling the small auburn coloured dachshund out of the box and onto his lap.

The dog licked at William's hands and jumped up, so its small paws rested just under William’s shoulders, giving another weak excuse of a bark.

“He ith tho adorable” William cooed, rubbing the dog behinds its ears.  He looked up at John with a smile that was surely stretching his mouth to its limits.  

“Thith ith the betht birthday ever.  Thank you, daddy.”

“Your welcome, William” John said, leaning down and placing a kiss on his son’s head.  He then came over and sat down, joining Sherlock and Bill, and if his eyes looked a bit watery, no one said anything, because Bill’s eyes looked the same.  And if Sherlock was being honest with himself he would admit that his chest felt a little bit tighter as he watched William play on the floor with his new puppy.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I decided, it was time William finally got a puppy of his own, and several of you agreed.   
> Next is the official naming of the puppy, so stay tuned. Hopefully, it won't be too far away.


End file.
